


tiger teeth

by weatheredlaw



Series: settle the tab [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: Taking the car out becomes his ritual. Locus figures, taking the bike out must be hers.





	tiger teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greylina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greylina/gifts).



_a tiger in my heart again_   
_when you swallow someone whole, you are bound to choke_   
_well, I guess we can never be friends_   
_i ate you up the day we first spoke_

 

* * *

 

Here’s the thing.

No one looks good driving the speed limit. Not a goddamn soul.

Locus doesn’t drive his dad’s car much. It’s pretentious, the trim is _orange_ , and the only person who likes riding in it is Felix, which isn’t a good sign. Felix has terrible taste is just about everything.

But if a Bugatti Veyron Coupe sits in a garage and no one bothers to drive it — does it even exist? Important questions he’s been asking himself since he pulled out of the driveway at a quarter til midnight, and proceeded to roll his way downtown. The cops around here aren’t going to care that this car was _born_ to top out at two-fifty, that she was _made_ for speed and luxury while simultaneously broadcasting to the world that the driver has more money than _God._

The speed limit here is fifty. So Locus does fifty.

Someone didn’t tell the girl on the V-Rod, who comes up beside him so fast he thinks she’s going to front flip over the handlebars. She’s handling the bike okay. At the very least she’s wearing a fucking helmet. He kind of wishes she weren’t — strands of red hair whip at the edges of the helmet and the collar of her jacket. She glances at him, looks the car over from end to end before the light turns green — and she’s off.

And here’s the thing. No one looks good driving the speed limit.

Not a goddamn soul.

 

* * *

 

Taking the car out becomes his ritual. The bike seems to be hers.

They don’t meet every night, but the few times they do is enough. She’s handling the bike better all the time. Locus is starting to feel like the rides are more of a therapy than an excuse to remind the world his late father had shitty taste in cars. To some, anyway. The Bugatti isn’t Locus’s thing. He’d honestly prefer to sell his father’s entire collection, and he’s working on it, one terrible purchase at a time. But the Bugatti was...personal. They don’t make them anymore, and it was a sort of gift.

Locus doesn’t resent his father, but they were never especially fond of one another. The car feels like a final goodbye, in a way. And Locus drives it to remind him that there are still tangible expressions of his parents’ wealth in the world. The car isn’t the same as the schools and orphanages and solar plants or whatever they were interested in, but it’s something.

He wonders where her bike came from, if it was a gift, or if it belonged to someone. He wonders if he’s reading too much into it.

It hits twelve-thirty, and he’s restless. He hasn’t seen her tonight. He hasn’t seen her in several nights. Needs a drink in him.

Bars don’t usually interest Locus, and he never comes to them alone. But Felix isn’t here, and this little place on the corner is putting out a siren call, reeling him. He pulls into back lot, opens the door —

And knocks over the V-rod parked next to him.

There’s no way in hell it’s her bike. There is absolutely no way that, after a week of nothing, he pulls into this bar and knocks _her bike_ to the ground. That is absolutely not his bad luck.

“Oh _man_ ,” someone says, and Locus looks up. A guy holding a trash bag in either hand shakes his head, looking at the fallen bike. “My sister is going to _kill you._ ”

 

* * *

 

It takes a herculean effort between the two of them to set the bike back up. The guy’s name is Church, and he and his sister own this bar. The bike is hers, and sometimes she takes it out for a half hour if it’s been a particularly rough day. Church explains all of this while frantically searching the bike for scrapes or dings as Locus looks on.

The backdoor of the bar swings open. “ _Church_ , what the fuck are you—”

Church looks up. Locus looks up.

He sees red.

“Why are you touching my bike?” Church’s sister steps out, leaving the rabble of the bar behind her. Church takes a massive step back, hands raised in surrender.

“He knocked it over, gotta go!” he says, and bolts inside. The door slams shut, and she stares.

“I’ve seen you,” she says, and jerks her chin toward his car. “I saw you last week.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. You drive your ugly ass car every night around this shithole. What, is it like, cathartic or something? You’re not showing off, no one around here gives a shit enough to even know what that is.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“It’s a fucking Bugatti Veryon. Question is, where did _you_ get it?”

Locus steps back defensively. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t, actually. You don’t _look_ stupid,” she says. “But I could be wrong.” She goes to her bike, running her hands over it. “Seems okay.”

“It was an accident.”

“I believe you.”

Locus breathes. “The car belonged to my father.”

She nods. “I believe that, too. I’m Carolina,” she says.

“...Locus.”

“Right.” She turns to go back inside. “Don’t ever knock my bike over again. Got it?” She opens the door and doesn’t wait for him to answer.

Locus puts out a hand to steady himself, knocking the bike onto its side.

“...Son of a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

Instead of driving around at night without a destination, Locus drives to the bar.

He doesn’t know why is the first lie he tells himself.

That he’s okay she doesn’t pay attention is the second.

Her brother notices. He notices right away.

Church is the least threatening person Locus has ever met. He’s scrawny and lanky, like he’s grown too tall for his bones. He has a mess of dark hair and thick, black-framed glasses that he keeps pushing back up the bridge of his nose. But he pours well, and he keeps the place in check. Locus kind of likes him.

It’s unfortunate that Church has decided he doesn’t like Locus.

After their brief interaction in the parking lot, every other conversation they have is absolutely awful. Church purposefully ignores Locus every time he comes to sit at the bar for at least five minutes. On occasion, he will serve him the wrong drink, and, if he’s in a particularly bad mood, he won’t serve him at all.

Locus doesn’t ask why. He assumes Church already knows.

But a grumpy, overprotective brother isn’t going to stop Locus from getting a good look at Carolina. He knows it’s odd, he knows his intentions are questionable at best, but there’s something about her that pulls him in, makes him want to see her more. He doesn’t go to the bar every single night, but eventually — it pays off.

Carolina lets Church go early, and he seems relieved to throw in the literal towel and shoulder his way out the front as Carolina ushers off a few of the stragglers. She goes around the bar and pulls down two glasses.

“You’ve had the same beer in your hand for an hour,” she says. “Whiskey?”

“I need to drive.”

“Right. That _car._ ”

“...Yes.”

She shrugs. “Alright.” Pours herself a glass. “Can you give me a ride?”

This is a surprise. She doesn’t wait for his answer before she tosses back her drink and starts turning barstools over onto their tops. Locus drains the rest of his beer and stands to help her.

“Alright.”

“Great. Hey, you can grab a broom while you’re at it. Push everything into the corner over there. I’ll finish up in the morning.” She quickly wipes down the tables, pushing the hair away from her face as she leans over.

Locus wonders if she knows he’s got a decent view of her tits from here, or if that sort of thing just doesn’t matter to her.

It shouldn’t matter to him.

But it does, just a little.

She turns and smiles, leaning against one of the tables.

Locus isn’t often seduced, doesn’t understand the more obvious language and signs, but — you’d have to be dead not to know what she’s thinking. He swallows. He can work with this.

It’s not like it hasn’t been on his mind, or half the reason he comes here every week. Maybe more than half, if he’s daring to be honest. Which he can do. She turns out the lights and grabs her jacket. “You ready to go?”

“...Is that it?”

“The rest can wait.”

Unspoken: _you and I cannot._

 

* * *

 

“Good ride,” Carolina says. She stretches her arm out the window as they roll to a stop, waiting for the light to change. Locus keeps his eyes ahead, but she puts a hand on his knee and says, “Take me somewhere.”

“Where?”

“You’ve got more than one car, right?” Locus nods. “Can I see them?”

“You want to see my garage.”

“Is that not okay?” She rolls the window up and angles toward him. “You can just take me home if it’s a problem.”

“No,” he says quickly. His mouth is _dry._ “It’s fine.”

She grins. “Good.”

Locus looks down. Her hand still hasn’t left his knee.

 

* * *

 

She takes the glass of wine from him, walking around the edge of the garage. His father’s collection is extensive, and she admires the line of bikes on the wall, running her hand over the seats. “This is nice.” She glances at him. “So it’s all yours.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to your old man?”

Locus pours himself a glass. “He died.”

Carolina nods. “Sorry to hear that.”

“He was very sick.”

“And your mom?”

“She died when I was very young.” Locus goes to stand next to her.

She looks into her glass. “I’m sorry to hear that, too.”

“It’s fine.”

“I guess.” She drains the entire glass and points toward the end of the garage. “Gimme the tour.”

Locus lets himself relax. She slips her arm through his and they make their way down the line. She doesn’t seem surprised that he’s going to sell most of it. “Even the Bugatti?” she asks.

“Especially the Bugatti.”

“And what will you keep?” He points and she _laughs._ “You have _three_ Ferrari’s and you’re going to keep your fucking Honda Civic?”

“Gets good mileage in the city,” he says. “More wine?”

“Uh, yeah.” Carolina shakes her head. “Definitely more wine.”

 

* * *

 

He lets her sit in the front seat of whichever one she wants, and she looks _good._ Locus leans in and gives her the keys to the Zenvo at one point, and she wraps her hand around his wrist and pulls him in, pressing their lips together.

Locus draws back. “...What was that for?”

“Isn’t that why you brought me here?” she asks.

He ducks out of the car and backs away. Carolina climbs out and closes the door, tossing him the keys. “Take me home then, if you really want. I’ve had my fun.”

Locus stares down at the key in his hand. He _did_ bring her here for a reason. He’s wanted her for weeks now, wanted to lay her out on any available surface and drag his tongue over every part of her he can reach. She leans against the car, watching him. Locus looks up.

He drops the key and surges forward, crowding her against the car as he reaches up to hold her face in his hands and kiss her deep. Carolina’s arms curl around his neck, holding him close and kissing him back. The garage is quiet but for the sounds of sticky, wine-slicked mouths sliding against one another, the gentle hum of her voice as he drags his hands down her sides, grabbing the swell of her ass and pulling her hips flush with his own.

She tips her head back, and Locus drags his teeth over her neck, laving his tongue across her collarbone. She reaches for his face and draws him back up, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. Locus moans, shoving their tongues together frantically. He pulls back and starts heading toward the door leading into the house, but Carolina shakes her head.

“No.”

“No?”

She laughs. “Uh-uh.” She sits on the hood of the Zenvo, sliding her hands under his shirt. “Right here.”

“... _Here._ ”

Carolina sighs. “Look, if you’re just going to repeat what I say—”

She stops talking.

Kind of hard when you’re kissing.

Locus toys with the button of her jeans, and she nods. He gets them loose and slides his hand down, under the band of her underwear. Two of his fingers slip easily against her clit and she sighs, letting her head fall back.

“You want this,” he says.

She laughs, leaning back up to look at him. “Yes. Why else would I be here?” She glances around the garage. “I don’t really _like_ cars.”

Locus stares for a moment before he huffs a laugh, leaning in to kiss her again. “Alright.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Now, uh. You were doing something.”

“I was,” he says, and curls his hand to slip two fingers into her cunt.

Carolina gasps, clenching around him. “ _Fuck_ , yes—”

“Off,” he says, and she nods, lifting her hips so he can pull her jeans and underwear down. He yanks them off with her boots and tosses them behind him before pulling her closer as he lowers himself down to his knees. He buries his tongue in her folds as she cries out, one hand sliding into his hair. She’s dripping wet, and she _tastes_ incredible. Locus feels her heels press into his back as je hums against her and presses his tongue inside, slowly fucking her open.

“More,” she says. “ _More_ —”

Locus brings one hand up to slide a finger into her cunt as he holds the flat of his tongue against her clit. He pushes in a second when she doesn’t seem satisfied. A third when she begs.

“Oh, _fuck, fuck, fuck_ —”

Locus pulls back, wiping his mouth on her thigh as he fucks her with three fingers. He brings the thumb of his other hand up to circle her clit. Her legs press together as he brings her closer and closer, and she comes with a shout, tugging on his hair, clenching around his fingers.

“Fuck,” she mutters, laying back on the hood.

Locus nods, going for his belt. “You mentioned that,” he says.

“Yeah.” She pushes herself onto her elbows. “You want me to blow you?”

“No.” He leans back in. “I want to fuck you.”

Carolina nods. “Purse,” she says, pointing behind. She’d tossed her bag onto the workbench when they’d gotten there. Locus fishes around inside of it and pulls out a condom. He shoves his slacks and boxers down before tearing open the packet while Carolina watches. He rolls it over the length his cock before closing the space between them, sighing as he teases her entrance. Locus presses the tip against her before pushing in with a groan.

She is so _wet_ , taking him easily. He luxuriates in the feel of her, the indulgent warmth of her cunt wrapped around him. Every thrust is slow and purposeful, and Locus feels already like he’s coming a little undone. After a few minutes he hears her mutter, “ _Harder_ ,” and he nods, picking up the pace and force of his thrusts. The garage is filled her soft words of encouragement, his own, focused grunts, and the lewd sound of their skin smacking together. He wishes he’d taken off her shirt, wishes he’d been able to put his hands on her breasts, his mouth all over her chest. He wants to taste everything, he wants to really lay her out and have her toes curling, her voice pitching high — she is a creature he wants _desperately_ to know, and this doesn’t feel like the way.

But she looks _good_ stretched out on the hood of a car he didn’t care about until she sat in it. She _feels_ good, she _sounds_ good. God, she _is good_ , and Locus certainly is not. He has never been good, or good enough, but right here, right _now_ —

He feels like he is.

She pulls him down and kisses him. “I want you to come on me,” she says. “Please—”

He nods. He close anyway. It’s easy to pull off the condom and start thrusting into his hand. Carolina lifts her shirt and Locus puts his other hand flat on the hood of the car. He closes his eyes, but Carolina reaches up and cups his cheek.

“Hey,” she says. “Look at me.”

“ _I_ —”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “Come on. Come for me.”

Locus nods and groans, tipping his forehead against hers. His mouth falls open and she reaches up, taking his bottom lip between her teeth.

“You look good like this,” she says, and he comes, streaking her stomach and the hood of the car. For a moment they’re frozen, gripping each other tight, before Locus feels himself collapse against her. She lays back on the hood of the car and laughs.

Locus lifts his head. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” she says. “It’s just been a while.”

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

He helps her get off the car and rights his pants as she gets dressed. She bends down to tie her laces before straightening up and looking at the car. “We made a mess. Should we clean it up?”

“No.” He pulls her in and kisses her forehead. “Someone’s coming to get this one tomorrow.”

When he drops her off later that night, she’s still laughing.

 

* * *

 

He stops by the bar a few nights later, she comes around the other side and sets a beer in front of him.

“I was going to be mad you didn’t call,” she says. “But I remembered you don’t have my number.” She sits next to him and passes him a piece of paper. “So here’s my number.”

Locus picks it up. From the other side of the bar, Church makes a gagging noise.

“Thank you,” he says.

Carolina nods and takes a sip of his beer. “Well I kind of want to see you again.” She leans in close and kisses his cheek. “I had fun.”

Locus turns and finds her lips on his. He brings a hand up to cup her jaw and kisses her back, until Church clears his throat and slaps a towel down between them.

“Hey. We’re _busy_ ,” he says.

Carolina sighs. “Alright. I’ve gotta get back to work. But...dinner. This week. You and me?”

Locus lifts her number. “I’ll call you.”

She grins and kisses him one more time.

“Can’t wait.”

When she’s moved on, Locus pulls his phone from his front pocket, swiping through the barrage of texts he’s missed from Felix. If he had money for every time Felix blew him off to get laid, Locus would be twice as rich as he already is, but Felix absolutely hates being stood up. He supposes it’s part of their charm.

He picks Felix up later, finally making good on promises he’s been making all week. Felix scowls in the passenger seat.

“I looked like an _idiot_ the other night. I said you’d show and you didn’t. Where the fuck were you?”

“Relax,” Locus says. “It’s not a big deal, I’ll show tonight.”

“Yeah?” Felix fishes in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. The end blazes in the dark, flashing orange and yellow across his face. He hangs his arm out the window, looking sideways at Locus.

Locus nods. “Yeah.”

“Alright.” Felix relaxes, slouching in his seat and taking a drag. “So what happened this week?”

Locus shrugs. “Not much. Sold a car, took a drive.” He grips the steering wheel and blows through a yellow light.

“Met a girl.”


End file.
